Névé
by Hillside Dancing On
Summary: Whatever drove them together that night, it was not the cold. Luke/Ion
1. Chapter 1

**Pairing**: Luke x Ion

**Setting**: Early on in the one month timeskip.

**Spoilers:** Some, mostly regarding both characters' pasts.

**Rating:** NC-17 for sex.

**Disclaimer: **Tales of the Abyss is the property of Namco, not me - if your name happens to be Anise Tatlin, you should count your blessings for that.

_Névé - a young, granular type of snow which has been partially melted, refrozen and compacted. Névé that survives a full season is called firn; firn becomes glacial ice._

* * *

He was kissing Ion, and Luke couldn't for the life of himself say why.

Looking back, it all seemed to blur together, like a glitch in time. They had to have been sitting together for at least an hour, likely more than that, since the delicate rapping had sounded against his door and the unmistakeable voice had asked if he were awake. At first he had thought the Fon Master had something of importance to discuss with him and perhaps that was his original pretense. Somehow they had ended up on the bed, gazing out at the snowy streets of Keterburg, brightly lit and dotted with people, largely flushed and boisterous on their way back from the casino.

The world outside had managed to catch its first breath since coming close to complete destruction, yet he knew they had been discussing something mundane, laughing. . .gels, that was it. They had been talking about gels and how the ones sold here weren't as sweet as in the south. When the clock struck one, Ion's head had been on his shoulder, and that was nothing, they'd sat like that before – and then lips were brushing his cheek.

He'd started, looked down at him and been surprised not by the gesture so much as the fear in the Fon Master's green eyes, the look of panic Luke had never before seen in him - not when armed guards flanked him in the custody of some enemy, not even when monsters were barreling down on him. He looked as though he'd bet his very life on the outcome of that one simple peck on the cheek.

He hadn't apologized, though Luke could swear he was fighting off the urge, just sat there gripping the hem of the white jacket, looking as soft and sweet and innocent as everyone always assumed he was, though Luke knew better. And before he knew it, the Fon Master's face had been in his hands.

So here they were kissing, had been kissing, and it was enough to make Luke wonder why they had ever bothered doing anything else. Ion's hands were in his hair, curling and uncurling his fingertips to play with the strands, and he kept moaning softly as the elder replica ravaged his mouth. Luke wasn't sure why, because he honestly had no clue what he was doing; exchanging kissing tips in the garden with Guy was a far cry from exchanging the real thing on the bed, in a city miles to the north of home, with his jacket already wrinkling on the floor. He couldn't have been doing too badly, however, liked the way Ion's grip tightened on his hair every time he curled his tongue.

Ion broke away for breath first, which didn't surprise him, brushing his nose against the older replica's as he panted gently. "Luke..."

Forehead to forehead, his own voice sounded distant to him, dreamlike. "Yeah?"

In the end, Luke loved everything about Ion. He loved the entire anachronism of him, the way his small, thin frame and airy voice concealed a backbone of solid iron and granite, willing to take on most anything, even when it seemed far beyond him, and genuinely believe he could. He loved his capacity to see the best in anyone; hell, he'd been the only one, save maybe Mieu, to see it in Luke himself when no one else had – when no one else _should_ have. Loved his gentle eyes, his patience. And perhaps most of all, he loved the way Ion could be all of those things at once, the purest person on the planet... and then turn around and surprise him.

Ion kissed him again, and again, fleeting and hungry. "More. Please, Luke."

He opened his mouth to reply, but managed only a faint, reedy whine that he really never thought he was capable of issuing. Pushing the free-flowing aquamarine strands aside, he latched his mouth onto the side of Ion's neck, sucking hard at the spot just above the collarbone where he knew (hoped) the high collar of the silky outer garment would eventually cover it up. That was the last thing they needed, a scandal in the holy land. Anise furious at him – or Lorelei forbid, _Jade_. The thought was enough to make him cease at once, tracing the spot with his tongue apologetically.

"It's alright," Ion assured him. Luke looked up to find him breathless and smiling, and saw that his lower lip had a faint indentation where it had apparently been bitten into. "You can mark me if you want. If anyone asks, I'll tell them I ran into a door. Or fell out of bed."

Luke face-palmed. "That makes it sound like I hit you."

"You would never hit me." He sat up, taking the older replica with him, effectively shutting him up as soft hands were worked beneath the hem of his tight black under-jacket. He tugged it up and over until they were as bare-chested as one another and Ion threading his arms around the elder. Luke instinctively embraced him, running his hands down the boy's back while managing not to flinch. . .so thin, the brittle bird-bones too close to the surface of that milky white skin.

He heard the gasp when his hands wandered too low, heard it turn into the faintest whimper when he was brave enough to venture lower, and then Ion couldn't stop whimpering, shaking his head against his shoulder. Luke's hands were on the waistband of his leggings a second before the boy could reach them, peeling them down inch by inch.

"Geeze, Ion, how do you survive in these?" He muttered as he worked the skintight things away, hoping they didn't tear. Ion lay back against the sheets as they reached the knee, gratefully watching them come away.

"I'm used to it." Settling against the pillows with a smirk, he parted his thighs and Luke could see just how hard he'd become. Throat dry, he reached out to caress a pale calf, the slow upward slide of his hand a marker of his own nerves more than any desire to tease, until his hand was wrapping around the Fon Master's erection. It fit neatly into his fist, and Ion gulped, gripping the sheets at his side. Luke's own arousal throbbed painfully against his trousers as he met his soon-to-be-lover's eyes.

"Like...just like this?" He slid his hand slowly up and down along the shaft, the way he would at home in his room with visions of some cute girl (and the occasional boy) plastered across his mind's eye. Ion nodded quickly, spread his legs to give him more room, and Luke was reassured. Nothing too different here...just as hot and hard as his own, a little smaller, but smooth and dripping around the tip, and this was simple, this was good. He took his hand away just long enough to spit in the palm; when he started stroking again, Ion clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the resulting cry.

The boy looked good like this, he thought, with his alabaster skin flushed and hips jerking hungrily into Luke's hand. Something healthier, more natural, than the porcelain doll made up and pushed to the head of the order.

'Later,' he thought. 'We can go back to being ourselves later.'

Ion's stifled moans were just beginning to peak towards the point of no return when a noise from the hallway froze them both. A set of footsteps was coming down the hallway, the floorboards creaking as if to protest being stepped on at such a late hour. Even as he remembered that there _were_ other guests at this hotel, strangers who probably enjoyed glasses of water and last-minute trips to the restaurant and that some would consider this to be early, Luke could not help staring at the door he had had no reason to lock when Ion first called on him. Could not help hearing the mutual pounding of their hearts. . .surely it was loud enough to bring attention to their room?

The footsteps cast a shadow along the crack of the door, then passed right on by.

Luke felt incredibly stupid.

He turned back to Ion, who looked almost roguish with his hair falling down and that uncharacteristic smirk on his face. "You look so guilty, Luke. They wouldn't have entered without knocking."

"Maybe not your room," he replied, feeling himself blush. "But definitely mine. It's happened before."

Shaking his head, Ion pulled him down by the biceps, peppering everything from the bridge of his nose to his lips to his chin with tiny, feathery kisses. Having earlier pulled his hands away as though the younger replica were something sharp, Luke eagerly slid a hand down his small chest, making a beeline for the juncture of his thighs – only to be taken aback when he found his wrist gently stayed.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. But I was thinking. . .maybe you wanted to do something a bit more intimate?"

It took Luke a moment to realize he was staring blankly. "I thought that's what we were doing."

Ion shook his head. "I know. Forget I said anything."

"No, no. Tell me." The boy hesitated, and Luke took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Ion, I'm here because I want _to be_ intimate with you. So if there's something more intimate than. . ._oh._" Ion averted his gaze awkwardly, and for the second time that night, Luke felt stupid. He wasn't sure why it hadn't hit him earlier. That was, after all, the other thing he had discussed with Guy in the garden – and looking back, he wished he hadn't cut his friend off sometime around the word "lubricant." "You actually want to do that?"

"Not if you don't," came the quick reply.

"Stop being so selfless. Of course I do. It's just. . .geeze, Ion, that's got to hurt."

He picked at a stray thread on the pillowcase. Always draped beneath long sleeves, Luke had never noticed how thin his wrists were. "Maybe just a little. It wouldn't be so bad. . .not with you, I mean."

Luke's heart gave a twist and for just a moment, he was standing in the dappled sunlight of the Cheagle Woods once again. Even as a spoiled kid stranded far from his life of luxury, everyone in the world out to make things difficult for him, Ion had been worthy of his time and protection – because Ion had cared about _him, _completely and unfailingly and right from the beginning. Even the old Luke hadn't been able to resist him. Tonight, he didn't stand a chance.

"Okay," he said at last, running his fingers through his hair, more curious than he'd care to admit. "Tell you what. Let's try it, and if we both hate it, there's nothing that says we can't stop. Right?"

Ion's eyes shone. "Absolutely right."

That decided, Luke gratefully shucked off the annoying remnants of his own clothing, pants and boxers, shuddering at the touch of air on his own aching arousal. He turned just in time to see Ion digging through the nightstand drawer, bent at an angle that got him thinking this all might be a really fantastic idea, and coming up with a pale bottle. He wrinkled his brow.

"Hand lotion? Will that work?"

"I'm fairly sure." Luke watched as he tipped some of the faintly floral scented stuff onto his fingers, rubbed them together, and reached behind his own back. While wasn't able to see the first finger penetrate, the way Ion gasped, as though even he hadn't been expecting it, told him more than enough. He must have looked concerned, because the boy was quick to reassure him. "I'm fine. . .it just feels different, that's all."

"Like a bad kind of difference?"

A shake of the head.

". . .Good?"

A nod. Luke's mouth suddenly felt very dry. "Can I..."

Without hesitation, he lie down on the bed, this time placing one of their many pillows beneath his hips to prop them up. Luke's hand trembled as he took the bottle of lotion, poured it out the way he'd seen the younger do. It felt slick and cool against his skin, and he wondered if it would feel just as so against Ion's; he rubbed it between his fingers to warm it.

"Just one, then."

"Right," said Ion. "Just one."

It was tight. He'd known it would be, of course, wasn't that naïve, but still. . .it was incredibly tight, and for the sake of patience he tried not to think of what all those gripping muscles would feel like on his cock. Besides, it was clear Ion was uncomfortable, his expression taut. He apologized.

"Don't be," Ion said in that way that never allowed him to. "They're just. . .bigger than mine."

". . .Oh."

"Mmhmm." He smiled and ran a hand over the firm muscles of Luke's arm. "But it's okay. I like it."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"...Alright."

Working the digit out to the cuticle, slowly at first, then back in to the knuckle, careful, easy movements, until he felt the tension in Ion's body begin to lessen, his breathing sounding less hitched. He didn't know where to place his thoughts; it was all so weird - to touch someone there in preparation for _that – _that was, if you thought about it enough, so Luke tried not to. In the end, he didn't want to stop, didn't want to at all. He didn't know what was going through Ion's head, but his eyes were closed in something other than pain, and he kept arching his back just slightly, as though someone were running their nails down it.

"You can use two now, if you want." Mere notches above a whisper. Carefully, Luke slid the second finger in alongside the first. The Fon master's entire body gave a jerk, but he shook his head when Luke tried to go back to one. Much quicker than before, he began to loosen up, to press back against the fingers inside him as thin, hungry cries slipped from his throat. Luke was spellbound; he moved his wrist a little faster, swallowing hard and wondering if it were possible for either of them to come just from this. Suddenly, it didn't matter how foreign the entire act was.

"You ready?"

"Yes, yes. . .please. . ."

Leaving hesitation behind, Luke lined himself up hastily – perhaps too much so. It took two tries before the tip of his hard on brushed across Ion's stretched entrance and he was sinking in, breath taken away by the tight, hot passage gripping him from head to hilt. Short nails dug into the meat of his shoulder hard enough to bruise, and he was grateful for it, because it could only be selfish to feel so much pleasure when his lover was in pain, and he liked to think he was through being selfish. He lay a kiss on the side of Ion's neck.

"'M sorry..."

Ion rubbed his cheek against the older boy's, and his breath came hot and quivering against his ear. "Luke. I won't break."

Could always turn around and surprise him...

His first thrusts were unsure, almost sloppy, the way they never were when fantasy took over. Ion's ankles had hooked around his hips, were nudging into the small of his back every time he pushed forward, like he needed him even closer than this intimacy allowed.

From somewhere out in the streets came the faint sound of voices, laughing in the falling snow.

Something was wrong. It was too dry, too rough, and though Ion was still hard, there was a trace of pain in his voice that was not going away. Luke pulled out with little reluctance and once again reached for the lotion, this time pouring it over his palm, rubbing it over his erection, careful not to come by his own touch. There wasn't nearly as much resistance upon entering a second time and the friction was deliciously silky, Ion taking him back inside as though he had never been hurt in the first place.

"Thank you," he said quietly, a smile on his face.

Luke wanted to look at him severely, tried, and was sure he failed. "If I hurt you, you've got to tell me."

"Alright."

"I'm serious, Ion," he groaned, trying to restrain himself from moving until he'd made his point. "Promise me."

"Fine, I promise." There was that tone of his, the one that on anyone else would probably be referred to as impatience. "Please, Luke..."

He shifted on his knees, changing the angle of penetration and that seemed to be what they both needed. The next thrust he gave came smoother, easier, and Ion bucked up into him with a high pitched, _"Oh!" _It was the loudest noise to come from him since they'd begun, Luke realized – for the most part, the Fon Master uttered his pleasure as softly as his pain – but it was enough to cut through the final spring-line that held him back. They both began to move faster, falling at last into a rhythm of giving and taking up each others slack, the space between them hot as a pinpoint held over a flame. Soon, the first white-light slivers of completion streaked through the two of them, and it was simply a matter of who would reach that horizon first.

Luke was groaning, knew he was probably being louder than he realized, gritted his teeth. Besides the unwelcome politics of what they were doing, besides what the group would think, he desperately wanted to keep this one night for their own . .a moment to be vaulted away by two people born under a veil of secrecy.

He was getting close, clawing up deep fistfuls of linen. Wanted the end, wanted so much more, and the younger was holding onto him for all he was worth, broken sobs of pleasure falling against his neck. Ion may have been the one to set him aflame, but he would never leave him to burn alone. When Luke pulled a hand away from the bed to stroke him, he tipped back his head and cried out as though he were coming apart.

Luke came first. It had been winding up inside him for so long that it hit him like gunfire, racing up from his groin and shaking him from head to toe. Pure anesthetic ecstasy brought his more coherent thoughts to a white out, but he heard the boy's name on his own voice, felt the pulse of semen through his cock as he shot into his lover. His head was just beginning to clear when Ion went over as well, arching and spilling over his hand with something like a squeak.

And just like that, it was over.

They didn't say much in the immediate aftermath, couldn't muster up the words to as they lay with galloping heartbeats on the rumpled bed. The room, which had been all clean linen and potpourri that afternoon, now smelled tellingly like sex.

"Luke..." Ion murmured at last, and Luke couldn't judge from his tone whether or not this was a good thing. He was just wondering if he should start feeling guilty when when Ion kissed his ear. Pulling back, he saw that the Fon Master was smiling and couldn't help but do the same.

"So did you?"

Ion blinked. "Did I what?"

"Plan this whole thing."

"I didn't, really," he said with a laugh, and Luke kissed him.

"Liar."

"Never. I'm under several oaths not to lie." Luke withdrew carefully, though not enough to keep him from flinching. "However. . ."

"However?"

"I may have told Anise I was going to speak with Jade. That was the truth, because I did go and speak with Jade. . .and told him I was going for a walk. But I walked the length of the hotel before I came to see you."

"You're weird sometimes, you know." He bunched up the sheets and gave them to Ion, watching him wipe himself down with half before taking it back and making use of the other half, finally dropping it over the side of bed. He lay back down and extended his arms, letting Ion crawl into them, curl up beside him. "I'm glad you did, though."

The boy turned his eyes with him, bright and drowsy and captivating, and Luke felt something slipping away from him, some part of his soul that was no longer his own. "Really?'

He touched his nose to the aquamarine curtain of bangs. "Yeah."

Ion embraced him tighter, head pillowed near the juncture of his neck. Luke was just wondering what the hell this made them to each other when he felt the wisp of eyelashes coming down against his skin, and he chided himself for asking a question he had always known the answer to. Ion was Ion.

The young Fon Master's breathing lulled out into a peaceful sleep and Luke must have done the same, because the next time he opened his eyes the room was bathed in pitch darkness, the streetlights having finally gone out. It was still snowing, though, and Ion was still sleeping beside him, this time lying against his arm.

He frowned. Something was tight near the apex of his own inner elbow, itching and damp, and it took him almost a full minute to realize why.

There were tears drying on his skin.

Luke shook the boy's shoulder, saying his name, but found he could not wake him – Ion slept as if he hadn't the strength to open his eyes. Resigned, Luke was left to wrap arms and body around him the way a rabbit might protect its young, a gesture that amounted to nothing when the wolves came. As he listened to the sounds of the wind against the windowpane, to the younger replica's breath and heartbeat, he realized for the first time that there was something dark behind Ion's perpetual smile, something broken that he could not piece back together, no matter how hard he tried.

Luke didn't even bother trying to get back to sleep that night, and sleep did not find him.

-End-


	2. Morning After

**Pairing:** Luke x Ion

**Setting**: Early on in the one month timeskip.

**Spoilers:** Some, mostly regarding both characters' pasts.

**Rating:** R for nakeditity and talk of canoodling.

**Disclaimer: **Tales of the Abyss is the property of Namco, and if your name happens to be Anise Tatlin, you should count your blessings for that.

**A/N:** I don't know. Originally, I planned on this being just one chapter, but couldn't resist the urge to poke around in Ion's sugary little mind...simply because I've never thought it was that sugary to begin with.

He also fails at communication, it seems. I decided that was alright. Most everyone in ToA does.

* * *

Huddled together, skin to skin in a knotted cocoon of blankets, Ion was warm.

True to his name, Luke was even warmer still. Lying close to him, head pillowed against the curve of his bicep, the reality of ice, snow, and wind seemed very distant indeed.

In spite of it all, Ion was happy.

And yet even as the bittersweet knowledge that it could not last forever was not enough to diminish that completely, he could see the frost on the windowsill turning indigo in the first shades of daylight. There was no sense in staving off the inevitable; the fact remained that what was done was done, the biting winds would have to be faced, and – though he wished it with an agonizing longing – he could not fight the dawn.

Even if he could, his lover was already awake.

He turned his head up to study Luke's face, tight with feigned sleep – a slight pity, because he had seen the young man when he actually was asleep, lips parted, bangs falling over his eyes, and was sure there could be few things more beautiful. Ion brushed his fingers carefully over his cheek, skimming the angle of the jaw where, mere hours ago, he had laid a kiss and brought time itself to a standstill.

Remembering brought a bloom of color to his face. When he had slipped away from Anise and into the night, there had been no guarantees that Luke would so much as allow him through the door, let alone return his feelings. It had been so natural, so simple, just to sit close to him, his scent warm and wonderful, and the arm around his shoulders positioned in just such a way that, every so often, Luke's fingers would brush his side, until it became a matter of choice between jumping in or dreaming forever.

He watched the young man's eyes as they opened, and for a moment it was that first kiss all over again – that gripping anxiety, the terrible fear of what he might find there. But when green at last reflected green, there were no misgivings to be found...and Luke did not reject him.

"Hey..." His voice was quiet, kind, but far too smooth for early morning. Ion wondered how long he had been sitting up.

"Good morning, Luke," Ion softly said as the elder overlapped their hands. Warm and rough. There was a little callous near the life line, and he remembered it grazing his hip. "Did I wake you?"

"No. I've been up." Shifting awkwardly against the pillows, he gave him an odd look. "But. . .I do need to ask you something."

Ion braced himself. "What's that?"

Luke looked him in the eyes, and it seemed he needed to force himself to do it. "Ion. . .I know you were crying in the middle of the night. Am I right?"

So he knew.

Ion glanced away, filling his vision with the wooden whorls that lined the bedside table rather than Luke's anxious, guilt-ridden expression. He thought of the night before, of watching him sleep with an arm still draped about him. Of being exhausted, humming with the sensation of being both drained and satiated, like a bottle emptied out and refilled with warm, viscous honey; of the clarity with which reality had returned to him, how sudden and sharp it had been.

The sudden clenching in his chest, the tears he had failed to fight back. Sync's death had both acquainted him with crying and taught him to hate it.

"It wasn't because of anything you did wrong. If that's what you're thinking, I beg you not to."

"Easier said than done." Luke tugged the blanket up from where it had become folded during the night, covering his bare hips in a display of self-consciousness that didn't seem right to Ion, not after all they'd seen of each other. "I know what we did was kind of out of the blue, and I'm sure I made a few mistakes. But. . .if any of it hurt you, or you regret it –"

"No!" Luke blinked, taken aback by the urgency he heard. "No, that's not it at all. It was. . .I just woke up, thinking. I suppose I was. . .overwhelmed."

Luke sighed, pulled him in close and held him tightly enough that Ion knew he was not succeeding in the way of being reassuring, but embraced him in return all the same.

Tongue in cheek reassurances notwithstanding, when he told Luke earlier that he never lied, he had not spoken falsely. After his predecessor had died, the heads of the order had instated him as Fon Master and given him a lengthy oath – normally meant to be recited before the entire congregation – but carried out in his case with utmost secrecy in the deepest passages of the church. It involved swearing faithfulness to Yulia and the Score above all else, but also neutrality, charity, humility, and, honesty. Head bowed, he had recited it and meant each word.

He supposed he had betrayed the Score the day he came into existence, but had always tried to do well by the remainder...and yet, how could he possibly speak truthfully now, when the truth tasted so bitter?

_Because I've complicated things for you yet again, was unbelievably selfish, and there is no excuse for that._

_Because I know you've always belonged to Tear, and not to me._

_Because the future is uncertain, and I cannot promise you half of what you deserve._

_Because this will never happen again._

He closed his eyes. It just seemed simpler that way.

"Luke, please listen to me. You've already done more for me than you could possibly imagine, simply by being my friend. After last night, you've given me more than I could have ever dreamed of. I swear to you that I have no regrets, not a single one...but only if you don't."

And that was true.

In return there was silence, Luke's gaze fixed somewhere on the opposite end of the room, some obsidian corner or sliver of peeling wallpaper. "...Then are we good?"

"You tell me. Are we?"

He curled his fingers, gently running the backs of the joints across his shoulder until Ion couldn't help but relax. "Yeah. We're good." Ion glanced up just in time to see him smile.

"...I've been sitting on pins and needles all night long, worrying I traumatized you."

It wasn't funny and he couldn't help but laugh. "How could you traumatize me? I kissed you first."

"Still."

"So I should really be the one asking you about regret and making apologies."

"Ugh, please, no," Luke groaned, and Ion wished he knew why it warmed his heart the way it did. "No more of that. Let's just relax while we still can, alright? The sun will be up soon."

At that moment, there was not a single thing Ion would have liked to do more. Perhaps, he thought wistfully, if circumstances had been different, they might have been able to do just that. He could have laid his head down against Luke's solid chest and fallen asleep once more to the sound of his beating heart. The sun could have dressed before they did, and they might have breakfasted on the hotel's incomparable room service crepes without a second thought. In a perfect world, even the luxury of deciding whether to part ways and leave things to the night or stay together and see what happened next would have been their very own.

But they of all people knew that the world was not perfect.

He kissed his lips, just because he could. "I have to go. They'll be wondering about me."

Luke tensed, and it wasn't a stretch of the imagination to guess what he might have said as little as two months ago – "_Bull. Stay with me and if anyone gives you trouble about it, just tell them you're the Fon Master and you can do whatever the hell you want." _Ion was simultaneously proud of the way he had grown and saddened at the loss of a brashness he'd quietly found endearing. Too hard-headed to be afraid, too blunt to be insincere.

But Luke was suddenly kissing him back, doling out the words in between, as if they were an unpleasant chore he wanted to shirk. "Just tell me I can see you again. Before you go back to Daath."

Ion fought to keep his eyes from drifting closed, knowing that if they did he would not see the sky lightening outside the window, and so would never leave. "I can't promise it will be alone...but I give you my word, I won't leave for Daath without seeing you first."

That seemed to satisfy Luke, but more likely he knew it would have to. He pulled away and let the boy get dressed.

Ion had expected to hurt. He'd awoken to a general ache throughout his body, as though someone had dismantled him, turned him inside out, and put him back together in less than perfect order, and when he put his foot down on the plush carpet, a jolt of pain shot through his lower half, unwillingly bringing forth a clipped groan. Luke winced.

"Is it that bad?"

Ion shook his head.

"Luke," he said with a smile. "Did you know that I once fell down a flight of stairs in the church?"

He had to admit, however shamefully, that the older replica's expression more than up for any pains he was currently experiencing. Ion may as well have said that he'd held a brief residence beneath the sea. "The...stairs?"

"Yes. I was late for the weekly reading, missed a step a quarter of the way down, and fell all the way to the bottom. It was nothing serious, and I was still able to perform the reading just fine, but I can assure you – this pain is nothing."

Luke ran his fingers through the mussed spikes of his hair, blinking owlishly. "So what you're saying is that sleeping with me feels better than falling down a flight of stairs."

"Much, much better."

"Huh," he mused, arching his eyebrows with a philosophical shrug, just pleased enough to prove that all the changes he had made, endured, and survived could not change the core of who he was, and that come what may, the sweet boy Ion had always longed to throw his arms around would still be there within.

Ion finished dressing, trying in vain to smooth out the wrinkles in the fabric as he did; there would be enough trouble explaining himself without looking like he'd been thrown down against the street and robbed. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself to go out and face his share of the consequences sown.

It would be lonely.

He turned to Luke. "Do I look presentable?"

"You look great," he replied with a thoroughly pushed smile, and Ion knew he needed to be away fast. He leaned over the bed one last time to kiss him, forgoing the temptation of his lips in favor of his forehead.

"I'll see you later on today."

"Sure. See you."

He had made it as far as the door when he heard Luke's voice. "Hey Ion?"

"Hmm?"

Through the half-light shrouding the room, he thought he saw him smile wistfully. "...No more crying, alright?"

And although he knew it wasn't right, he nodded. "Very well. I promise."

He chanced one last look at the room, the vast, dark drapes they had never closed, the dressers and tables with their complimentary gels – and the little bed where Luke lay watching him go, too far to reach out and touch him now, but never far from his heart. And maybe, the young leader realized as he quietly slipped out the door, that was the way it had always been meant to be.

In the end, Ion kept his promise.

He never cried again.

* * *

Anise was sitting near the windowsill, perfectly positioned to watch the doorway of the hotel. She was fully dressed and Ion wondered if she too had even bothered to go to bed. The moment he entered the room, she was on her feet and running to meet him; he might have thought she were going to strike or embrace him, if not for the fact that she had never done either.

"Where were you?" The accusation in her voice cut deeply. "I've been looking everywhere for you, and no one knew where you'd went...I thought you'd been taken again, by...by I don't know who!" The emphasis on _again, _intentional or not, hung on the air and reminded him of all she had given up for his sake. If he had been feeling selfish before, he felt despicably so now.

"I'm so sorry, Anise. I lost track of the time."

"Where _were _you?" she asked again. Unwittingly, he brought his hand up to conceal his throat.

". . .No place I could have been harmed. I swear to you."

Her arms were crossed severely, even as her eyes and voice became markedly softer. "How can I protect you if I don't know where you are?"

The fact that she had been here in this room instead of out searching, and that she did not persist in interrogating him as to where he'd been, made him wonder if she suspected. Anise may have been many, many things, but naive was not one of them. . .not only could her vocabulary peel the paint from a door, but her personal library would have given the Daathic priests a heart attack in the event that they found it. If this incident had happened a year ago, he couldn't help but think she would have rolled her eyes and told him flat out that if he wanted that kind of _privacy_, all he had to do was let her know.

Three months ago, she had taken his hand and lit up at the sight of him in one piece.

The changes between them had come on so gradually that he'd scarcely realized it.

"I understand, and it was wrong of me to deceive you like that. I'm so sorry, really I am."

She shook her head in a strange, exasperated fashion that he didn't recognize immediately, as it seemed too adult to come from Anise. Later that afternoon, as they made their plans to return to Daath, it would hit him that she had adopted it from Natalia.

"Forget it. Are you hungry?"

He occurred to him that he was, and terribly so. "A bit. But you don't have to –"

She was already at the door, pointing at him resolutely. "I'm going down to get us something. You stay here until I get back!"

Ion had realized long ago that arguing with her was a foregone conclusion, as was pointing out any discrepancies in the levels of security she insisted on. The sound of her footfalls fell rapidly away down the hall, leaving him alone to the only course of action that made any sort of sense. He headed for the shower.

Glancing in the mirror as he disrobed, he caught sight of a small, plum colored bruise blossoming low on his neck, the sole piece of evidence of all that had transpired between Luke and himself. As his fingers ghosted over it, a solitary note of pleasure danced across his oversensitive nerves, like a single string plucked on an instrument.

The way they had kissed, deep and desperate, until his head had swam. The faint taste of lemon gel and wondering ridiculously where it had come from – Luke's tongue and lips, when had he eaten a gel, was he hurt? – before being unable to get enough. Breath falling onto his neck, Luke inside him, how it had hurt, then gradually faded into the sensation of thinking he might die if it stopped. Thinking he might die if it didn't stop. _Knowing_ he would die if it didn't stop, but that was alright, because there could be no better way to depart than this.

The returning onslaught of memories brought a rush of heat to his loins, though he resisted the urge to tend to it. So much had been granted to him already; to ask for more felt unspeakably gluttonous, and he let the hot water soothe the aches and pains away without incident.

He only wished that his heart could be rinsed clean so easily.

Ion felt as though he were being pulled too many directions all at once, with not a soul to blame save himself. There was Luke, first and foremost, Luke who was everything he had never dreamed he could possibly want so much, who made him feel so much it couldn't be right, Luke who had become the world to him...even as he knew that there _was_ more to the world, and that it would go against every fiber within him to turn his back on it.

He loved Luke with all his heart and it was not nearly enough to make a difference.

There was the question of his loyalty to the order, the very foundation of his existence that was both a set of shackles on his wrists and a means to fly. With the church in such a fractured state, he knew he had taken a gamble so large, so irresponsible, comprehending it was sickening. That there were no hard and fast rules mandating his personal life was irrelevant; precedent dictated that a good Fon Master not only abstain from any and all vices, but be celibate, in keeping with the theory that purity of the body was a must for fully mastering the Seventh Fonon. If word of what he'd done ever got out, there was no telling what ramifications would follow...and that uncertainty frightened him.

And then there was Tear.

Tear who had always been good to him, whose feelings for Luke were evident to everyone but the young man himself, and growing stronger by the day. Their chemistry was palpable in the way they spoke to each other, battled together, even argued together, and it was clear Luke thought highly of her too. Ion could not shake the sour, sick feeling that they belonged together, that they would find completion in one another, and that the night before had been a great hindrance to the happiness they were always meant to find.

If there were a place for him within Luke's heart, he told himself, the very thought constricting his chest, he had stolen his way into it like a thief.

Selfish.

Inconsiderate.

He dropped his head against the side of the shower, letting the water run over him, evaporate off his skin, as though it might take him with it and carry him all the way to the sea.

Shameless.

Licentious.

_'Stop that.'_

Some small inner voice was coming forth, cold and serious. Ion opened his eyes, scarcely having realized that he'd closed them.

_'You say you love Luke, but how much credit do you actually give him? Have you stopped to think that he's quite capable of making his own choices? Whether it was right or wrong, the two of you acted together.'_

It had still been wrong.

_'Ask yourself this much. Would you have changed a moment of it?' _

And Ion gave a long, rattling sigh.

He would not.

So what had been had been, and would what be would be, and he had not been noble. Even as the starkness of it all became a great sobering weight that pushed down on his shoulders, he found that it did not keep him pinned. Maybe it would work out. Maybe this one reckless, irresponsible act was theirs to share.

'_You will do your best by him_,' he thought, alight with a strange and quiet conviction. '_You will do your best for all of them. And you will not drown in thoughts of what was, or was not.'_

As the last of the water and floral scented foam spiraled down the drain with a rumble, destined for the great copper vats beneath the snow of Keterburg, Ion felt as though the world had finally begun to turn properly after a long, slow rotation backwards. Drying off on a heavy, cream colored towel, he chanced another look at his reflection and, to his amazement, found it ruffled and smiling.

Truly the Score was but one chapter in the story of the world, with its infinite paths in life branching out like welcoming arms. If it had been destined for his and Luke's paths to cross in Engeve, then the Cheagle Woods, and finally the lamp lit sheets of this city where the snow was always falling, he would count his blessings each day. If it was to be that they remain in each others lives, in any aspect, for one hundred years or one more day, he would be thankful for that too. And when the end came, it would not find him mourning, for there had never been one to have so much as he did.

He had just finished dressing in clean robes and tying his hair, feeling at last like himself, when Anise returned with a fat paper sack in one hand and a canteen of tea in the other. No sooner had she opened the bag than the room was filled with the scent of something baked very, very recently. Ion wondered if the restaurant had even been open, but could easily imagine her batting her eyelashes until the staff broke and gave her an offering straight off the trays meant for the breakfast rush.

"Scones," she announced. "I got one strawberry and one lemon, so which do you want?"

"Lemon will be fine, thank you." His stomach twisted and growled, ruining any chance at nonchalance. Hungry as he was, he had never yet missed the morning prayers, and nothing short of unconsciousness could keep him from it now. "I'll be with you in just a moment."

He could feel her eyes on him as he knelt before the window and sensed, not for the first time, the weight of something hidden within her gaze. Whatever was changing her little by little had begun to grow malignant; he wondered how long she could keep it locked away before it brought her harm.

"Anise? If I were to tell you what was on my mind this morning, perhaps you could share with me what's on yours?"

She stared at him, thrown, eyes wide, like some small and frightened creature trapped with its back to the wall, torn between fighting with claws unsheathed and lying down to play dead. Just for an instant, she was lost, and for just that instant he wondered if she really would tell him.

"I don't think there's anything worth telling," she said with a shrug, transitioning so smoothly that her falter could have been a mere trick of the light. "I was worried about you...and then you came back...and then I went and bought scones. That was it, really."

Ion momentarily contemplated telling her that he knew, that he understood. But he never did, and Anise went back to pouring out the tea.

_'I don't know what you're hiding, Anise,' _he thought, as though it would somehow find her, '_but I do know you would never do such a thing if there weren't a reason for it...and besides, I've kept too much from you already. I've always trusted you; now I will trust you with whatever secrets it is you keep.'_

He turned to look out the window. The sun was coming in from behind a haze of snow and low lying cloud, making it appear that the whole skyline had gone up in a great and glorious blaze. For a fleeting moment, he thought of a flame too bright to extinguish, of eyes as green as the vein through the center of a leaf, calloused hands around a sword hilt, and he smiled.

_'Luke. Thank you for making me feel...as though I were irreplaceable.'_

Enfolding the tuning fork symbol in his hands, Ion closed his eyes and recited the words that were so deeply engraved into each Fon Master's very soul. Though they had been said for centuries, at times by men who killed without remorse in the name of the ideals they held, he always tried his best to keep them untouched by thoughts of grandeur and sacrifice. He prayed to Yulia as though she were not the creator of some unshakable prophecy, but a woman standing at the foyer of time itself, simply doing the best she could.

As though she could hear him, long, long ago, and know that he was grateful.

'_Oh Yulia, who through Lorelei's most radiant sound speaks still, thank you for the Score that guides us through our days. That we may follow your word precisely and well, and through your greatest gift find peace in ourselves and in our world.' _

_'That all those who have been shrouded in silence may hear your song and so find their way to you. That those soon to join you may do so peacefully, and that the Score may foretell it so.'_

_'Yulia, we thank you for the future.' _

_'Amen.'_

-END-


End file.
